Holding Back
by Brithna
Summary: The Enterprise-D travels to Starbase 74 for upgrades to the holodeck and undergo routine maintenance checks. While there, Beverly and Deanna must work through the chaos that always follows their beloved Enterprise—and also navigate through their relationship as it becomes something more.
1. Chapter 1

This Story Occurs: Season 1 : Episode 15 / Stardate 41365.9 / Starbase 74

Episode Title: 11001001

Written / Directed By: Maurice Hurley, Robert Lewis / Paul Lynch

Originally Aired: 2/1/1988

Awards: Emmy for Outstanding Sound Editing of a Series

Disclaimer: Star Trek: The Next Generation is the ultimate brainchild of Gene Roddenberry with the support of: Maurice Hurley, Rick Berman, Michael Pillar, Jeri Taylor, Paramount and CBS.

This Could Not Have Happened Without: Redheadgrrl1960 (Gun Brooke), Peetsden and Heeledmira.

Note: As you all are well aware, writing for this fandom is new to me. Please be tolerant and even forgiving as I try something else. I am currently—and will always continue—to write DWP. There are many things I need to finish and even some things I need to post which are gathering dust under my nerves. This project is a challenge but also a way toward calming myself and working through some personal issues. Thank you for your understanding and please feel free (as always) to comment. Sometimes, those are all that keeps me afloat.

 **Chapter One**

Beverly will only have forty-eight hours. If she's lucky. Which she won't be; she's almost sure of it, knowing Jean-Luc as well as she does. He will press the engineering team at Starbase 74, and the Bynars, to have the upgrades to the holodeck and other maintenance checks completed far ahead of schedule, no doubt. And never mind that the Enterprise arrived a week late. This won't matter to him, and he'll make sure it doesn't matter to anybody else. Beverly will be shocked if they're not in and out of here in no less than thirty-six hours.

Good for their next mission—a trip to Pelleus V.

Bad for Beverly's own personal agenda—an agenda she's not entirely certain she should attempt.

Every time she starts having that sort of debate with herself, she's quick to remember there are two beds and a lot of space in the quarters she reserved on the starbase a few days ago. One for Beverly and one for Deanna Troi, the ship's Counselor, a woman she's never been able to stop thinking about.

Regardless of those two beds and all that space, Beverly remains skeptical of just about everything going on in her head—so the debate on whether or not this is right, never ends.

Nothing has to happen, though.

Friendship is more important, isn't it?

Like the well-educated and sensible adult she is, Beverly knows this but what she feels for Deanna is something she can't push away any longer. At some point, within the next two days, _something_ has to happen.

Simply put, Beverly knows she's moved on from friendship—actually she never felt something so ordinary for Deanna anyway—and is subsequently no longer capable of performing the fine art of concealment. That used to be her specialty; the patient comes first, doctor second—if at all. Now she is like a holodeck program with the safety feature removed, capable of causing harm instead of being the ever-faithful healer who only has good intentions and a deep attachment to her work.

So, yes, something has to happen.

Coming to terms with that brought on the seemingly innocent conversation about, _"Since Wesley will be staying aboard the ship to enjoy a camping trip on the new and improved holodeck…?"_ By the end, she quickly talked Deanna into sharing a suite on the starbase. As friends, of course. They plan on relaxing, having dinner and possibly shopping—all the things _friends_ do.

These days, though, how good of _friends_ are they, really?

In the last month, Beverly has made herself far less available to Deanna. They used to spend so much time together… But Beverly couldn't handle it. She couldn't handle the emotions Deanna would eventually sense from her; it was inevitable. Now, their friendship is barely a friendship at all and here Beverly is, worried about ruining what's left of it when she wants so much more.

To be honest, Beverly is kidding herself if she thinks even for a minute that Deanna doesn't already know there is something more to this invitation. It's even possible Deanna knows more than Beverly's ready to contemplate without having a panic attack. The fact remains, even if it is only by half, Beverly is dealing with a Betazoid; but a Betazoid who's often busier blocking out than searching and accepting.

She's confessed to Beverly that she distances herself emotionally from whomever she can, whenever she can. Yet, it's as if Deanna either chose to open herself to Beverly so long ago or, for some reason, was unable to resist. Deanna never made _that_ particular statement... But at times, it was so evident at how she voluntarily clung to every minute they shared. She wanted to be there. She wanted to be closer to Beverly; otherwise none of this would have ever happened.

And then Beverly all but put a complete stop to it, too afraid of what Deanna would sense from her when, all along, she might already know the truth already. Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe Deanna completely missed it: the nervousness, the fear of possible heartache, the inability to focus. But either way, for the past few weeks, Beverly has been avoiding Deanna, always busy with Wesley, always too wrapped up in her work, always taking the longest way around the ship in case they might run into one another. Another words, the doctor has turned out to be a horrible friend to someone she cherishes.

Either way, whether she is angry at how Beverly has been treating her, or knowledgeable of the truth or _not_ , Deanna still said yes. She still agreed to spend time with Beverly on the starbase for however many hours they find themselves blessed with. That's got to mean something, right?

But maybe it doesn't mean anything at all.

Perhaps _all_ of this is in Beverly's head.

Wishful thinking.

A case of loneliness trying to correct itself.

Beverly isn't _lonely_ , though. Not in such a simple way. To her, saying that you are lonely indicates you could stand to have a few drinks in Ten Forward and maybe play a few hands of poker. It means that you need to branch out, make some friends, and get away from your job for a while. Granted, making friends has never been Beverly's forte, more of a challenge than a pleasure, but she'd done well enough, no longer the awkward and shy girl of her youth. So none of this has anything to do with the need to get a few drinks, play some poker or branch out.

She isn't lonely.

She's in love.

As usual, Beverly's fears wait in the background to chase all feelings of optimism away. Until now, she's never given another female a second thought in comparison to the way she thinks of Deanna. There's no way to explain other than to say—people change. She isn't the same woman who married Jack Crusher. God, Beverly's not even the same woman who boarded this ship for the first time at Far Point Station. But while gender roles are not as set in stone as they once were, and same-sex attraction is barely discussed in a negative or positive light—simply because it just doesn't matter—there are many levels in which this could be wrong. There's Wesley to think about. Her reputation on the ship. Deanna's reputation on the ship. Will they still be able to work together and be something more? There are so many things to consider; Beverly doesn't even know where to begin.

At the same time, she doesn't care—which should probably worry her but it's hard to shake the feeling that nothing matters more than Deanna. Deep down, Beverly knows she's ready and willing to get through whatever comes up, which is more than she can say for some people.

Well, she's is getting ahead of herself, isn't she? There's no need to analyze or worry or anything else because nothing has to happen. Beverly can always change her mind, keep her mouth shut and keep her friendship intact—what's left of it, anyway. Can't she?

Of course, while Beverly is busy analyzing everything for the millionth time regardless, the docking clamps barely have time to take hold of the Enterprise before she begins to run toward sick bay—taking the long way around, of course.

Professor Terence Epstein is visiting the starbase to conduct a cybernetics conference and she wants a front row seat.

Unsurprisingly, she's forgotten all about it until just now, and being as interested in this topic as she is—Beverly's got plenty of notes to show for it and will need them. It's not as if she's done all this work for nothing. The last few weeks—since she wasn't talking Deanna anymore—have been devoted to formulating not merely a theoretical approach for combining cybernetics and regeneration, but an approach she _knows_ will work.

Normally, the chance to discuss this with the professor would have Beverly waiting to be the first one off the ship. Instead, she's running, going in the opposite direction, to gather her notes because her mind has been elsewhere. Most likely, she'll be late for the conference. But she'll be damned if she's late for dinner, shopping and whatever else they plan to do before Beverly ruins everything completely.

Because, really, what are the chances of this ending any other way?

And of _course_ , it would _have_ to be Will Riker—the last person Beverly feels like interacting with—who comes in to eavesdrop while she's busy packing and thinking and packing and _thinking_.

"You look like you're taking the entire office with you," he says with that goofy smile she wishes she could smack right off his face.

It's like trying to get into Starfleet Academy all over again, but Beverly does her best to be surprised and happy to see him. "Oh, Commander Riker," she says, looking up briefly before shoving so many PADDs into her case that it will hardly close. "I'm just gathering my notes. Professor Terence Epstein is at the starbase."

Will has no clue who this is and it's going to make him insanely curious. He's the type that has to know everything about _everything_.

"Is he anyone I should know?" He asks as Beverly darts out of sick bay with him close behind.

Again, it's like trying to get into Starfleet Academy all over but she manages to answer all his questions, hoping to bore Will to tears so he will leave her the hell alone. She doesn't want to talk to him. She never does and loathes that its part of her job, but Beverly cannot ignore the fact that he exists; he's second in command, after all.

Beverly cannot ignore that he gave up the most gorgeous woman she's ever laid eyes on, either.

What an idiot.

And she's determined not to make the same mistake. Isn't that what all this is about? Not just repairing a friendship, but getting and keeping the woman she has someone managed to fall in love with.

It takes a second longer than it should, but finally, Beverly realizes what Will has just said while she's been busy thinking of exactly how stupid he really is. But to be sure, she asks him to repeat it.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said I hope you and Deanna have a nice time together on the starbase."

Beverly blinks a couple of times for no other reason than pure shock. By the look on his face, she can tell Will is alluding to far more than he should be aware of; her brain can't even think about why or how he seems to know so damn much.

He presses the button for the turbo lift and then, out of nowhere, she says what she's wanted to for what seems like a hundred light years at least. He's a fool. And it's about time somebody told him. Especially if he's determined to get in her business; she will certainly give as good as she gets. Play time is over.

The lift door opens and Beverly enters, turning around to look up at him. " _Commander_ ," she looks him right in the eye and he regards her with obvious surprise spread across his face. "Deanna would have never gotten in your way. Never. You could have had your career and her too. But that's not what you decided, is it? No… That's not what you decided. But it's what _I've_ decided. I'd rather wait tables in Ten Forward for the rest of my life than give her up. And I suggest you don't get in my way because your chance came and went a _long_ time ago."

Its apparent Beverly's said some things she had no idea she was capable of expressing. Not only has she told him he's the biggest idiot in the world; basically, she's also said a couple of things that Deanna should have been the first to hear. Not Will Riker. And what will he do with this information? Oh, and she's pretty much given him an ultimatum even though she didn't spell it out exactly: Beverly will toss him out an airlock if he tries to make a move on Deanna ever again.

Taking a step back, with both his hands in the air at chest level, Will says, "I'm not in your way now, Dr. Crusher, and I don't plan on being in your way in the future. You have nothing to worry about from me."

Well, that's a _comfort_.

Beverly impatiently waits for him to finish, trying not to lose her nerve. Even if she is known for standing up for herself, this little display of bravery and attitude tops the chart.

Putting his hands down, Will continues…or she thinks that's what he's going to do. But he doesn't, simply giving her a sad smile that speaks volumes. It's filled with regret and acknowledgement of the fact that, yes, he is an idiot and, yes, he gave up the best thing he could have ever hoped for—for no real reason at all.

There is nothing left for Beverly to say as the lift door closes on the image of Will walking in the opposite direction and she is suddenly overcome with the sense that this _could_ work out. She might not ruin a single thing. In fact, Beverly might gain more than she ever hoped for.

All she has to do is open her heart and allow Deanna to see everything that she has been holding back.

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

They'll only have forty-eight hours. No, that's not true. Actually, it'll be thirty-six or less. Deanna's known that for days, sensing the obvious from Captain Picard. Pelleus V is a planet that has long been on his list to revisit. He hasn't been there since his days on the Stargazer and won't want to waste any more time at Starbase 74 than necessary. Captain Picard's excitement to see, first-hand, how the colony he helped settle so many years ago has progressed, is nearly too much for the man to contain.

Yet, she's almost asked him twice to reconsider what he hasn't even spoken aloud.

Thirty-six hours or less, might not be enough time.

Deanna would never do that, though. She'd never open her mouth to be the voice of opposition over such a thing. After all, as counselor, her first duty is to her captain and feeling such happiness from him is rare; she welcomes it openly, putting aside her own agenda. An agenda that someone else truly seems to be in control of.

While her devotion to Captain Picard is unquestionable in every way, Deanna is accustomed to shutting out whatever she chooses when it comes to the rest of the crew—unless they've got an appointment. Too many minds, too many voices; all in some form of chaos. Frankly, Deanna doesn't understand how it would be possible to live as fully human, and feels blessed that she'll never have to find out. There's no way she'd ever be able to handle it, therefore, protecting herself from emotional upheaval, is second nature to her. She's been doing it for as long as she can remember.

Yet, an exception has been found in the most unlikely of people: Beverly Crusher, the ship's Chief Medical Officer.

The time they spent together in the beginning wasn't lengthy by any means. There were staff meetings. Times when they had to confer with one another about a patient or the general effects of a mission on the crew at large. Weekly training sessions Deanna attended under the tutelage of the doctor in order to sharpen her skills when it came to assisting in a medical emergency. All professional topics in a professional atmosphere. Nothing out of the normal. Nothing that Deanna would have to avoid if she wished to remain sane.

But that didn't last.

Without meaning to, Deanna found herself a willing participant in conversations—that's what she called them, anyway—with Beverly in the corridor. Where a simple nod would have been sufficient before, they stood there for who knows how long, talking about _anything_. Soon, those conversations moved from the corridor and into Ten Forward, then the arboretum, _anywhere_ … always late at night and in places that gradually afforded them an even greater deal of privacy than the last.

Being around Beverly was so easy; her emotions, always so ordered, almost absent of chaos. And Deanna never felt pressured to say more than she could or felt comfortable with. Beverly waited for her to find the words with nothing but tenderness and a kind of friendly affection she was most definitely not used to experiencing.

Deanna foolishly believed she was managing their friendship and this newfound openness within herself, perfectly.

Now, today, standing in the middle of her quarters, trying to figure out what to pack, Deanna is ready to admit she not only mismanaged the openness and her friendship with the doctor, but there was never something quite that simple going on in the first place.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" Deanna says to herself, though she can barely hear for the music, surprised someone hasn't banged on her door already. For the past thirty minutes, she's been testing the limits of just how delicate and beautiful Chopin's Nocturnes really are. This _test_ is enough to cause the walls to vibrate and it still isn't loud enough.

She missed it…

Deanna knows that now. She completely _missed_ the fact that she was falling in love. Slowly, with each minute, she fell more in love with Beverly and she missed it! How does someone not notice falling in love? How can you experience such a thing and be so filled with _"If I don't get to spend some time with her today, I might die..."_ and still get to call yourself a Betazoid? Even by half!

Every time they were together the truth must have just gone right over the top of this _stupid_ bun Deanna's been sporting—but would really like to change and probably will in the next two seconds because all this thinking is driving her _crazy_. She's about to tear her hair out. All the fault of the Computer since it refuses to turn Deanna's music selection up any further. Who decided there should be a limit to that kind of thing, anyway?

And _why_ does it suddenly feel like her head is full of a series of broken and run-on sentences being spoken by a hundred different voices all at once?

 _Alright, take a breath… There's no need to be so angry._

With a heavy sigh, Deanna takes a breath and _doesn't_ tear her hair out. She takes it down instead, brushing it thoroughly. Really, she's been ready for a change and this way, in the future, it will take her a lot less time to get ready for staff meetings and appointments and all those wonderful moments between her and Beverly that _don't_ happen anymore because Beverly is currently being _stupid_.

 _Okay, seriously. Take a breath… Beverly's not stupid; she's scared. You know that._

Deanna takes another deep breath and finishes brushing out her hair. She really doesn't have the ability to think about what sort of hairstyle she'll end up with—something besides the bun and absolutely _no_ jewels stuck all over the place—and settles for tying it back and just leaving it be. So long as it's out of her face, it's within regulation; she'll give it some real thought later. Right this second, all she can think about is how Beverly, for the past few weeks, has mysteriously been "too busy" for her—yet she's still managing to take up all of Deanna's headspace, isn't she? Headspace that is obviously in short supply.

It doesn't help a bit that Beverly's mysteriously got time for her again. She's asked Deanna to spend the next two days with her on the starbase. Yes, Beverly Crusher, the woman that's been "too busy" for her _friend_ , is suddenly busy no longer. Imagine that.

 _Busy! Of all the lies I've ever been told!_

Clearly, this is something Deanna still can't let go of and it's the cause of a never-ending debate: Kill her, kiss her or both? But at least she understands now. At least she gets it. She's not missing anything anymore—about herself or Beverly for that matter.

When the invitation came, it would have been so easy to launch into the doctor—because she'd made up her mind to _never_ call her Beverly to her face again—about how much it hurt to have been pushed aside so suddenly and with no explanation. The fight she could have started and ended never came out of her mouth. In fact, Deanna barely said two words, only able to nod in agreement to everything Beverly said: Something about Wesley's camping trip and a starbase and sharing a room. Even while her comprehension level might have briefly been at an all-time low, and she was unable to speak, Deanna had never been happier or felt such relief. Beverly had time for her again…

But then Deanna realized something: Beverly might have time for her again, but she did not seem particularly happy about it. There was such anxiety; it seemed to roll off her in waves. And the way Beverly spoke, it was like she was giving a speech by memory and more than ready to get away from her.

It reminded Deanna of the last night they'd spent time together: in of all places—Sensor Maintenance.

Nobody ever went in there unless, obviously, something needed maintaining and almost all of the time that could be done from a control panel on the Bridge. They'd been once before, but this time Deanna'd found a way to carry a blanket and two chocolate sundaes through half the ship without attracting attention.

So there they were, in Sensor Maintenance sitting on a blanket eating ice cream and talking, talking, _talking_ when, midway through, Beverly wasn't hungry anymore. And she had the strangest look on her face; her hands went into the pockets of her ever present lab coat, never to reappear. Not long after that—she made up some excuse to go and practically ran out of there, leaving Deanna with no explanation and no more taste for chocolate sundaes. She hasn't had one since.

But at the time, Deanna had been too dumb to realize—

"What the devil is going on here!?"

The voice, shouting to be heard over the music, scares a half-hearted scream out of Deanna. There are only two people on this ship that could override the lock on the door. Lieutenant Tasha Yar and Captain Picard. Tasha wouldn't dare unless there was some kind of true emergency, but the captain would, so with a sigh and a shout of her own, Deanna turns the music off.

"Computer, music off!"

There is complete silence for exactly five seconds.

The captain comes fully into the room. He's got small box in his hands and even though he's obviously angry, she can't help but smile. As promised, he has come through for her.

Like it weighs a hundred pounds and as if he's completely outdone, Captain Picard sets the box on the table and gets on with the speech Deanna knows is coming. Like a child being scolded, she obediently stands at attention—which is rare in itself—knowing the whole time he doesn't mean a word of it.

"I never dreamed," he says, putting both of his hands over his ears for a moment, "the hull of this ship could be torn open by Chopin's Nocturnes. Of all the music selections… Blowing us to pieces. Inside a Starbase. Using Chopin's Nocturnes?"

"It won't happen again, Captain."

"I'd rather you crash the thing if you're determined to kill us."

"I'd never do that, Captain."

"Which is why I'd never let you take the helm." He cuts her off. "I've seen your academy records. Unsatisfactory if I may say so, Counselor."

"Yes, Captain. Unsatisfactory." At this point she can barely hold it together because _that_ part is actually true. She can't so much as pilot a shuttlecraft without micro-fractures appearing throughout the hull in only a few minutes' time. Beyond assisting in medical emergencies, Deanna Troi isn't suited for much else aboard a starship; becoming a full-fledged bridge officer is definitely not in her future.

Finally, inhaling and exhaling deeply through his nose and with a sharp tug of his uniform, Captain Picard gives her as much of a smile as he will allow himself. "Enough with the 'Yes, Captain.'" He waves a hand in the negative. "I have had enough. We're pressed for time here, but it is with regret. Even if it is under these circumstances, I'll gladly fool myself into thinking I'm on shore leave."

Realizing that the music 'lesson' is over, Deanna motions for him to sit down; he is tired—deservedly so—but there is more. She can sense he is here with a purpose other than the little box on her table. Something tells her she'll wish the scolding had continued on for a bit longer because this is about her. In fact, it's about Beverly, too. And that can't be good. He isn't supposed to know. No one is. There's just no way anyone could have guessed and what if…

"Your head is spinning, Deanna."

"What?" Deanna looks up in surprise. As often happens, when her mind is hyper-focused in self-analysis, she tends to stare at an inanimate object for far too long, unblinking, tipping off someone that knows her well enough—like he does. "I was just… thinking."

"I know." He says dryly. "Which is why I finished your lamp early. You're going to the Vulcan meditation…something or other on the starbase, aren't you?"

"I am. It's—it's today, actually. Later this afternoon." Deanna shakes her head slowly, trying to get herself under control. Perhaps, this conversation won't be as bad as she thinks. And even if it is, it will be a good indicator of not only the captain's reaction, but possibly the rest of the crew. Not that she really cares one way or other.

Beverly is more important to her than other people's opinions. Even her own mother's, which is saying something since Deanna's spent most of her life trying to keep things as peaceful as possible between them. Besides, it's actually Lwaxana's job—other than being a Federation Ambassador—to produce the shock factor. Not Deanna's. But she's willing to risk it. Right now, she's willing to risk anything to figure out how far Beverly intends to take this.

Without her realizing it Captain Picard has pushed the box toward her. "Well, open it," he says, impatiently. "You didn't _steal_ "The Sacred Chalice of Rixx" for nothing, did you?"

No, no she hadn't. And yes, she really did steal it. Of course, her mother hasn't missed it yet and Deanna is betting that she wouldn't for quite some time. Lwaxana might use the _idea_ of the Chalice to show off her importance, but in reality it's just an old clay pot she keeps in the back of a closet.

Deanna, however, has a much better use in mind.

On her last visit to Betazed, she took the Chalice for the expressed purpose of turning it into a meditation lamp in a traditional Vulcan style. There was just one problem; she had no idea how to do it.

Lucky for her the captain is not just a _captain_ , but an archeologist in what little to no spare time he is afforded, and often interested in restoring rare artifacts. Who better to clean up that old clay pot and turn it into something Deanna desperately needs: a focal point; a tool; a physical representation of her emotions—the flame, and the control she seeks within the lamp itself.

Deep down, Deanna knows if she is ever going to get over her phobia of feeling the intensity of so many people, gaining control over her own feelings through meditation is her only option. And it will have to be a more intricate form of meditation than any she ever learned on Betazed. Among her people, it's a common part of life, but for a Vulcan, meditation _is_ life.

Opening the box, she is astounded. Indeed, her captain has outdone himself. The lid of the clay pot has been transformed to allow for the flame and the refilling of oil. The outside is adorned with not only Vulcan script, but also in an ancient form of Betazoid. As Deanna turns the lamp around in her hands, she recognizes both languages with ease, having studied them for many years.

Ironically, the passages are about strength, emotional awareness, and acceptance of self.

There are hundreds of phrases, small lessons that could have been written here in both languages, but he chose the things she needs the most.

"Captain," Deanna can't keep the single tear from slipping away when she sees the tender look on his face, "I didn't expect this."

"And I did not expect you to need it so much, Counselor."

Before Deanna can reply with anything meaningful, the captain stands, and with another tug on his uniform, he makes his way to the door…then he stops.

She stands quickly, as if he's called her name, but he hasn't. The captain never has to. Deanna always knows when she is needed and while still holding the lamp, she looks him in the eye, and finally understands what this visit is _really_ about: Deanna is about to gain a lot more than the simple yet meaningful lamp she holds so carefully.

"Beverly is not the person she once was," he says matter-of-factly. "None of us are… And we will continue to change. But there is _one_ constant in Beverly." For a moment he pauses and Deanna can feel his next words before they are spoken. "Beverly will not leave you, Deanna. Don't hold back from her. If this is what you both want…don't hold back. Listen to her heart. Tell her how you feel."

Deanna can rightfully say that this sort of thing is completely foreign to hear from Captain Picard. But then again, none of what he's told her has come from her _captain_. No, he is not her captain today, which is why he can bring himself to launch into such a personal speech. And he knows what he's just become…The sentiment is clearly felt.

Today, he's her father, giving her all the advice and reassurance that was sorely lacking a split second ago.

It's what's been bothering Deanna all along—that maybe she's misread this whole thing. Maybe she's wrong. And then what would happen if she opened her mind and heart… For nothing? That's what it had felt like with Will. Several years…and then nothing. Gone. For a title. A promotion. A career path she never would have gotten in the way of in the first place.

Beverly would never do that to her; their connection is already so deep.

With a final nod, he leaves and Deanna is overcome by the sense that this _will_ work. No matter how many hours they will or will not have together on the starbase, she will make this work.

All she has to do is open her mind and trust.

To Be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

Beta for Chapter Three: Gun Brooke

As expected, Beverly is late to the conference. Professor Epstein, in all his thunderous glory, is just getting started when she bursts through the door. It's standing room only and buzzing with an undercurrent of voices and excitement and she can tell she'll probably be extremely irritated by the end of this. Leave it to a bunch of doctors to ruin a good time.

Holding all her PADDs like they're a collection of her favorite childhood toys, Beverly practically stands on her toes to get a better view. That doesn't help her much in the way of getting a clear idea of what's on the screen behind him, but it unexpectedly gives the professor an excellent view of Beverly.

They've been communicating back and forth through subspace messages for a decade or more, but haven't seen each other in person in a year. He knows how important this is to Beverly and has always shown a special interest in her. The topic of combining cybernetics and regeneration is so complex. Too many people want to "put the cart before the horse" as he often says, and are not willing to put in the time to truly learn and understand the tried and failed technics of the past, in order to bring in the future.

Beverly, however, has always been willing to put in the time. Half her career has been dedicated to this.

Noticing her, Professor Epstein calls for an immediate break. There are objections from all over the room since he's only been speaking for probably thirty minutes but the professor waves them off. In a few short moments, everyone makes for the exit and the room is cleared.

"Beverly!" He calls her name, almost taking a tumble as he hurries over to her. "I expected you here early for a good seat!"

They hug; he nearly squeezes the oxygen right out of her. "I did want a good seat," Beverly is finally able to say. "But I forgot my notes and it was such a fuss to get off the ship. My case broke before I even made it to the transporter pad and I was just…crazy."

Conveniently, she leaves out the part about how Deanna Troi has invaded her life and about how she just told off Commander Riker less than an hour ago. She's still not over that and doesn't know whether she should have kept her mouth shut or made a few additions.

"Well," he gestures around the empty lecture hall, "You've got your pick."

"True," she smiles and heads toward that front row seat she wanted from the start and he sits beside her, barely fitting into the chair.

"One day," the professor chuckles, still trying to get comfortable, "I'm going to have to stop eating."

Beverly laughs with him but doesn't say a thing about his weight. She hasn't had much to eat since that ice-cream sundae in Sensor Maintenance almost a month ago. Nothing tastes good anymore, which serves her right for walking out on Deanna. That night, she was no better than Will.

"Beverly, are you listening?"

Apparently, she isn't.

"What?" She asks, thrown back into reality as if she is a ship that's come to a dead stop. "I'm sorry, Professor…I guess I'm still a little scattered from trying to get here and everything."

Shaking his head patiently and with a smile, he says, "Terence. It's Terence. Are we not friends? How often must I beg you?"

"Right. Okay…Terence it is."

"That's better." He pats her knee as if she were a child, then returns to whatever he'd been talking about while she was lost in thought. "I was talking about Magnus. I thought you would want to know."

Beverly nearly jumps out of her seat. Magnus…The _Hansen's_? Absolutely, she wants to know. It's always in the back of her mind and certainly in the forefront of his. He mentions it in nearly every letter, most likely because Beverly is one of the few left that will actually listen to him about it. Everyone else has moved on. But not Terence.

Shaking her head vigorously, she urges him to continue, then gets severely disappointed. When will she stop hoping for anything good to come of this?

"There is still no news," he sighs, his face is grim. "I'm in constant contact with freighters and transport ships, but nothing. It's been eleven years, Beverly."

"It seems like yesterday, doesn't it?" She replies, giving him a sad look.

Beverly herself was only out of the Academy three years when—based on rumor alone—Magnus and Erin Hansen, along with their daughter Annika went off in search of the Borg. The last anyone saw of them was at the Drexler Outpost in the Omega Sector. From there, they'd defied orders, crossed the Neutral Zone…and were gone.

"It does. Time flies, they say." The professor laughs but it's not the good-natured kind Beverly is used to hearing. This laugh is bitter and full of remorse. And he has plenty reason to be remorseful. "Sometimes," he continues, "I try to make myself forget. I should never have encouraged him. But Magnus was so captivated by the rumors. And I encouraged it! He used to say to me, _'Uncle, it's not as if an exobiologist can just sit around and wait for new alien life to find him.'_ What was I to do? He was— _is_ —everything to me. Like a son, Beverly."

"I don't know what to say, Terence. Maybe they are just…out of range?"

"There is nothing to say. I'm a fool," he says briskly, wiping his forehead. "I apologize. You are here to share your research with me. Not to nurse my heart back to health."

Beverly shakes her head and finally lays her PADDs on the floor. For the moment, her notes are not important. "We're friends. You just said so yourself. I know this weighs on you; let me help you."

"This is true, very true. And you do help me. No one else will listen to the senseless ramblings of an old man. But one day I fear I will have to face facts, and let go. My thoughts get away from me too often lately. Perhaps it comes from too much _teaching_ and not enough _doing_ , ah? Now!" he startles her, suddenly shouting, sounding excited once more. "Show me what you have brought. No more about me and my troubles. I want to hear about you. It looks as if you have been very busy. Too busy maybe?"

Too busy. Yes, there's no doubt about that. It is what it is, though, so she might as well show him all her hard work. It's clear he doesn't want to discuss his nephew anymore. It's also clear that he might be on his way to accepting what everyone else has been telling him since the day the young family crossed the Neutral Zone: they're dead, either by the hands of the Romulans, or something much worse. A _worse_ that Beverly prays she never encounters—even if it is just a rumor.

"Commander Quinteros to Doctor Crusher."

Trained to react under any kind of pressure, Beverly freezes when her combadge goes off while she's gathering up her PADDs from the floor. Why is Commander Quinteros contacting her? He's supposed to be supervising the Bynars in their work. Not contacting her. And if there was a medical emergency, then the starbase…

"Beverly, answer him." Terence grabs her by the arm and shakes her roughly, sounding as worried as she feels. "He's called for you twice."

"Crusher, here." Beverly responds, a thread of fear winding its way up her spine.

"Doctor, I'd like you to report to the Command Center. We have a situation here."

" _Situation_?" Beverly asks.

"Yes. The Enterprise is being evacuated. They're having an unexplained failure in their antimatter containment field."

"My son…Where is my son?"

"He is beaming off the ship now. I've asked all senior staff from the Enter—"

"I'm on my way." She interrupts him, already running to the door. "Crusher, out."

It doesn't surprise Beverly that she's running. It's not the calmest way to proceed, but she won't be able to have an intelligible thought in her head until she lays eyes on Wesley. However, it _does_ surprise her that Professor Epstein is beside her, his voice booming through the corridor to clear the way.

"Move!" he yells, shoving people as they head toward the nearest turbo lift. "Move now or you'll all be doing clinical rotations on Rura Penthe! Your children's children will be doing clinicals on Rura Penthe!"

If Beverly weren't scared out of her mind, she'd laugh. A Klingon prison planet… Well, right now, that sounds better than trying to survive an antimatter explosion. And that's just what they'll be dealing with if the containment field isn't repaired immediately or—if worse comes to worse—the ship isn't able to get out of the starbase and at a safe distance in time.

"I will keep your notes safe, Beverly." Terence pushes her into the turbo lift, pressing a card into her hand. "This scan card will activate the turbo lift to bypass all other stops. These starbases are so damned big. Use it."

"Come with me, Terence." Beverly begs, not even sure why.

There is nothing he could do to improve the situation but for some reason, she wants him with her. It'd be better than the alternative. And why is she getting so sentimental, just now noticing how much older he looks since she last saw him? His hair is a dull shade of gray, thinning out dramatically; there are dark circles under what used to be bright eyes filled with warmth and energy; his shoulders are slumped and back bowed, giving the impression that he is shorter. All of it—regardless of his weight—says that he is in poor health and Beverly can't bear to think about things ending like this.

Of course, the professor shakes his head. "No, no," Terence waves her off, irritated by the suggestion. "I must deal with these ingrates," he points behind them at the crowd, "and keep the conference going until I receive word to do otherwise. Find your son. We _will_ discuss your research, Beverly. But later. Obviously. Now go! And keep the card. I don't even need the blasted thing!"

The door closes before she can say anything else and true to his word, that little card is an uninterrupted ticket to anywhere she wants to go. If only the turbo lift would go faster.

"Wesley Crusher to Doctor Crusher."

"Wesley? I'm on my way to you. I promise. I'll be right there."

"I know, Mom. I'm here with Commander Quinteros."

"Good. Good…" Beverly's knees almost give out on her. Her son is safe. For now. "Stay right there and do not move, Wesley. Do _not_ move."

Then, the lift door opens and there he is. In the flesh. Wesley.

She'd like to tackle him but there is too much going on and too little time. Taking him by the hand, Beverly follows Wesley over to a workstation where Quinteros is.

"What's our status, Commander?"

"Our status?" He barely looks up at her. "Grave. The containment field is beyond help at this point. Data and La Forge should be along any second. The ship is set for automated departure."

"There's no hope?"

"None that I see." Quinteros gestures wildly between the console and the window where the Enterprise can be seen backing its way toward the enormous doors of the starbase. "And if we can't—"

Whatever the commander was about to say, is put on hold. Data and Geordi appear in front of them, having beamed directly to the Command Center. Tasha and Worf arrive as well and it is pure pandemonium for a while.

Captain Picard and Commander Riker are nowhere to be found.

No one's seen the Bynars either.

The antimatter containment field is suddenly back online—unquestionably good news.

But the ship itself? Well, the ship is clear of the starbase and traveling at warp speed, most likely headed to Bynaus, the home planet of the Bynars. That's Data's theory, and when has Data ever been wrong?

And just like there is no explanation for the issue, that is no longer an issue, concerning the containment field, there is no explanation for the whereabouts, or lack thereof, of Jean Luc, Will and the Bynars. Even though the ship's computer denies it, it would seem they're all still aboard the Enterprise. But that just can't be. Jean Luc would—

Beverly's thoughts are broken by the discussion going on. Tasha and Worf are set on beaming back, but they are obviously out of time and there is no way to follow the Enterprise. All the other warp capable ships on the starbase are in the midst of repairs.

What's really broken through to Beverly, though, is the fact that Tasha and Quinteros are about to come to blows over the whole thing. Really, this is nothing new for Tasha. While excellent at her job, she tends to fly off the handle. But there's usually someone around to calm the situation and speak to reason: Deanna Troi.

And Deanna Troi…isn't here.

As if he can read her mind, Wesley pulls at her hand and whispers, "Mom, where's Counselor Troi?"

Beverly takes a deep breath to force herself to appear confident. "I'm sure she's on the starbase somewhere," she says lightly and puts an arm around his shoulder, more for her sake than his.

"Well, yeah, but where is she?" He persisted. "She should be here, right? All senior staff…"

"As I said, I'm sure she's around somewhere, _Wesley_." Beverly ends up using that tone that always lets know him the discussion is over.

Only this time, the discussion is _not_ over.

"Didn't you guys check into the guest quarters together? If she wasn't going to the conference with you, then you should—"

" _Wesley_."

That shuts him up long enough for Beverly to run through the whole afternoon.

No, they hadn't checked into their guest quarters together. There really was no 'checking in' to be done. The starbase had already sent Beverly the suite number and the entrance code and like a coward, she simply forwarded the message on to Deanna. They hadn't even spoken or seen one another today, and Beverly obviously hadn't been to the room yet. Come to think of it, Beverly never even packed any clothes! Great…

But where is she? Deanna should be here.

Wasting no more time, Beverly taps her combadge. "Doctor Crusher to Counselor Troi."

Once. Twice. Three times. No response.

With each second of silence, that thread of fear reappears inside Beverly. They've never been out of contact. Not truly. Sure, she can avoid Deanna all she wants, but with the tap of a combadge, Deanna is within reach: in her quarters; in her office; on an away mission, always within reach. But not now, and Beverly can't stand it.

Letting go of Wesley, she moves over to an empty workstation, away from all the nonsense still going on between Tasha and Quinteros. Right now, Beverly couldn't care less if they really do come to blows. Let them fight. She has more important things to do. Like find the one person that has become the other half of her soul.

"Computer, what is the location of Counselor Deanna Troi?" Her voice is far from steady. All the training in the world can't help her now. Not when it comes to something like this. Especially, not when the computer tells Beverly that Deanna is in the suite they're supposed to be sharing for two days.

Yet, she won't answer a call to her combadge?

Where in the hell is she?

"Mom, go find her."

Wesley's crept up behind Beverly without her noticing—and of all people, Worf is with him. Even on a good day, Worf cannot stand Wesley.

"Doctor Crusher," he regards her with caution; it must be evident that she's about to lose it. "I will be responsible for the boy until you return."

She'll never know it but everyone in the Command Center watches as Beverly runs across the room and into the turbo lift. At that particular moment, it doesn't even register with her that she's just left her son and shipmates behind without a word. The only clear thought Beverly has is that she must find Deanna. What Beverly is going to do with her once she is found, is another story entirely.

Kill Deanna most likely, for scaring Beverly to death.

Maybe kiss her.

Possibly both.

To Be Continued

Note: Sometimes there is a debate on: is it comm badge, commbadge or combadge…and on and on. There are too many sources pointing toward _combadge_ for me to ignore - so that is what I've chosen to go with.


	4. Chapter 4

Protectively carrying the small box that contains her lamp, Deanna enters the reception area for the Vulcan meditation seminar. It is cast in shadow. Stars shine through portholes draped in sheer fabric and candlelight flickers against the darkness; the smell of incense in the air is unmistakable. She can't help but wonder what the actual meditation room will look like. If it's anything like this, she's likely to fall asleep instead of giving herself over to some much needed learning. Though rare, there can be such a thing as 'too peaceful'.

But for now—having arrived far earlier than necessary—Deanna is alone. There is no one else here and even if it is peaceful, she finds it a bit sobering.

She's never been to this particular starbase before and even if she had, Deanna isn't prone to wandering around by herself. Unaccompanied exploration is just another precursor to stress. And she's horrible with directions. With or without the help of the computer, Deanna can barely find her way around her own ship.

She did manage to make it here, though, so there is that.

Just before the box slips from her fingers, Deanna clutches it and hurriedly takes a seat by the nearest porthole. Her hands are sweaty and shaking and before she's even realized it, things are starting to spin around in her head again. So much for 'too peaceful'. She had hoped to avoid skepticism. She had hoped Captain Picard's wisdom and assurances would be enough. Apparently, nothing will be enough until Deanna finally gets to see Beverly later today. Whenever that is.

Knowing her, that conference could go on for hours past its official end; Professor Epstein is rather a favorite of Beverly's. Honestly, Beverly talks about him like he's her grandfather instead of a colleague, and seeing as how Deanna is currently feeling about Captain Picard, she can't say it's a misguided idea. Whether you mean for it to happen or not, in most cases, the roles within a family will be filled one way or other. The titles may differ but the meaning is the same. Deanna just never imagined would happen to her. But today, it has.

In fact, today, she hopes to experience a lot of new things; things that have absolutely nothing to do with Captain Picard or Professor Epstein and so far, Deanna's off to a good start.

She's not really sure what she expected, but Deanna never imagined Beverly would work quite this hard to make the next two days so perfect. The message she'd forwarded merely contained a suite number and entrance code. Both of which turned out to be misleading. They're not staying in regular crew or even civilian quarters. They're staying on the environmental ring of the starbase and unless you know their exact location, you won't find them because they're hidden away in a private section of the most beautifully engineered rainforest Deanna's ever come across.

Her home planet of Betazed is a natural oasis like no other; the tranquility Deanna is able to achieve within its beauty has yet to come from any other place. But here, surrounded by the highest of trees which form a canopy, only allowing for mere flashes of manufactured sunlight to penetrate; sounds of waterfalls, birds, and the movement of unseen creatures: well, it's the closest to home Deanna has felt in a long time.

And Beverly knows Deanna is homesick, therefore, she's done this on purpose.

"Hello," a voice in the darkness makes Deanna jump. It's a good thing she put the box down a few moments ago or she would have dropped it. "Am I in the right place?"

Right place for what, Deanna thinks, and then remembers why she's even in the room to begin with.

 _Oh, the seminar._

That's when it slowly beings to sink in that nothing about meditation will be learned today. Emptying her mind, gaining control of her thoughts and emotions will be an impossible task. Maybe whoever this is, will take notes for her.

The owner of that voice in the darkness, a woman, sits across from her. Deanna still hasn't answered the question, too busy taking everything in. From the start she knows this woman is absolutely sure of herself. In fact, Deanna's certain she's attending this seminar more out of fun than need; simply seeking knowledge as an afterthought. And by the look in her eyes and brilliant smile on her face it's easy to sense fun and adventure are undoubtedly her primary mission in life…which has been a long one.

For this woman, time is not just irrelevant; it has no meaning at all.

The woman looks at Deanna thoughtfully, probably noticing the absence of color in her eyes. "You're a Betazoid," she says, head tilting slightly, drawing attention to her hat. It's vibrant indigo in color; the top is flat, circular and wide. The color theme continues throughout her clothing. Layers of fabric seem to go on for miles.

"I'm sorry," Deanna shakes her head, as if that will clear anything up for her, and presses a hand to her temple. "Please forgive me. You are in the right place…if you're here for the meditation seminar. And yes. I am from Betazed." And just because she's so used to clarifying, Deanna adds, "But I am not a full telepath. Only empathic. My father is…was human."

"I see," the woman smiles again and leans forward a bit. "My name is Guinan. And I'm…a good listener."

Oh, she's more than just a good listener. But Deanna feels like it would be rude to ask for specifics. After all, this is not a counseling session.

"And your name is?"

"Deanna," she says, officially horrified by her behavior. This is no way to act. She's got to pull herself together.

For a few minutes they sit in silence, and yet, Deanna might not want to pry into Guinan's life but for some reason she's ready to say all sorts of things. The woman that never volunteers anything of importance about herself to strangers beyond _what_ she is, is suddenly in dire need to do so—which is the oddest sensation.

Two more minutes go by and Deanna breaks. Once again, Guinan's smile is as bright as a star.

Before she knows it, she's told Guinan most of her life story and the further and further she gets into it, the closer and closer Guinan moves her chair. By the time Deanna gets to the part about Will and all that stupid _Imzadi_ business and how she only ended up with a broken heart to show for it, Guinan's practically right in front of her face, completely enthralled with Deanna's incredible tale of idiocy.

"And now I'm here with my…my…" Deanna stumbles on the word briefly. When it feels like everything is hanging by a thread, what is Beverly, exactly? Well, for now, in this situation, she will say, "My friend, Beverly," and let that suffice.

After that little stumble over phrasing is successfully negotiated, Deanna keeps right on, gushing about how Beverly is attentive and caring and so easy to be with and how she enjoys spending every moment available with her. Of course, Deanna leaves out the parts about how Beverly has been ignoring her and how much it hurt. None of that matters anyway because Beverly is in love with her.

Ironically, that thought and subsequent omission causes a pain in her chest. Though Deanna's not sure why, perhaps she should admit her true feelings to Guinan?

Thinking that this will alleviate the slight discomfort that is only increasing as each second ticks by, Deanna relents. "I'm in love with her," she says, hastily. "I just haven't told her yet. I'm going to, though. Today." Strangely enough, her confession doesn't help the ache go away. What's more, the kind of anxiety sets in that Deanna hates the most.

But this shouldn't be happening.

She's not in the midst of a crisis on the bridge or away mission; the kind of crisis that usually attributes to a debilitating headache, panic attack or worse—unconsciousness.

"Are you alright?" Guinan's voice sounds worried but distant, not close at all like it was a few moments ago. It sounds as if she's standing all the way across the room, but she's still right in front of Deanna and, now, very much in her face, obviously concerned.

 _You really have to stop this, Deanna._

She tells herself this often enough and it usually works. But not in this case, as anxiety is quickly accompanied by intense fear and desperation. It's like a crushing wave coming toward her, making it difficult to breathe.

Instinctively, Deanna taps her combadge. Her emotional state is already out of balance enough as it is, considering today's events. Whatever is going on now could mean serious trouble for her physically if she's not careful. Which means she needs her doctor. She needs Beverly.

Only thing is, her combadge isn't working.

Because it isn't there.

Deanna took it off when she left their little house—that's what she's decided to call it no matter what it's classified as—in the rainforest, intent on divesting herself of as much distraction during the seminar as possible. Yes, she'd left her combadge and a note on the table nearest the front door to tell Beverly where she would be and when she'd be back and that she had so much to say.

Even as everything around her starts to become distorted and she tries to tap at the nonexistent combadge again, Deanna is somehow able to recall one of those bedrooms is absolutely pointless because they won't need it. Beverly will be at her mercy before this is over…in a multitude of ways.

 _Leave it to a brilliant doctor to second-guess herself into oblivion. I want her more than anything else. Doesn't she know? Why doesn't she know…_

Whatever is happening, it feels like Deanna's head is about to split in two. What she is feeling is coming from someone else and she can't control it. She can't shut it out. And there's a reason.

 _Beverly._

Deanna can see her so clearly: running through corridors, pushing her way through crowds of people. Talk about new experiences. This has definitely never happened before. Sensing emotions are one thing. Actually _seeing_ the person in her head that those emotions belong to—with such clarity—well, it's _new_ , to say the least.

Something must be wrong.

Something has happened.

And Beverly is looking for her.

Darkness takes hold. It's a defense mechanism manifesting itself in a physiological response. Deanna figured that out a long time ago but Beverly was the one to explain the particulars like only a doctor could. Something about her paracortex and a sudden imbalance in the psilosynine that serves as a neurotransmitter; meaning this will inevitably put her on the ground. Guinan won't know what to do. Nobody will know what to do.

Deanna taps at that nonexistent combadge one more time before she falls.

Only she doesn't fall. Suddenly, Guinan has slipped beyond Deanna's consciousness. In fact, she is not in the room. She's gone. Completely. But nevertheless, hands grab her, forcing her body back into the chair. A hypospray is pressed against her neck. Arms encircle her. The darkness begins to recede. Obviously, she has been found.

 _Well, it's about time._

"I'm so sorry," Beverly says, still the only thing that is keeping Deanna in place, kneeling on the floor in front of her. "I had no idea this could happen."

"What? That you could fall in love with me?" Deanna says, hurt and scared by Beverly's apology. Unable to think rationally, she decides to get confrontational while barely able to hold her head up. "You're _sorry_ for falling in love with me, Beverly? How could you be sor—"

Beverly pushes Deanna back by the shoulders and for the first time in a few days, really in weeks, they look one another in the eyes. "That's not what I meant, Deanna," she interjects. "I meant that I didn't know it was possible for you to be so affected. This is my fault. I was so worried when I couldn't find you. Something happened and I just…needed you. I needed you, Deanna. I ran..."

Well, that doesn't necessarily clear the air. Or does it? Beverly _needs_ Deanna. Perhaps that's as close to _love_ as Beverly can say right now. As for how severely Deanna was affected, well, having never experienced such a powerful reaction to one person, she can't explain it so the shock is warranted for them both.

The hypospray Beverly's always insisted on carrying in her trusty lab coat—it's filled with all the right things to counteract the imbalance Deanna's psilosynine—has done its job admirably but she's still not all together yet and decides now is as good a time as any to be there for Beverly in the way that _she_ chooses: still in the midst of 'confrontational'.

"You need me but you ignored me for weeks. You _need_ me? You have a funny way of showing it, Beverly. It hurt. I thought you _hated_ me!" Deanna gets louder with each word and the feelings build up to the point of needing more of an outlet than her voice. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with me," she continues, clutching Beverly by the shoulders, hardly noticing the arms that have tightened around her waist. "And I never knew what I did wrong…"

She can't continue. Putting a voice to her resentment doesn't feel like the right way to go about this. It's not really what either of them wants. Beverly knows what she did was stupid and Deanna knows why she did it and doesn't necessarily want kill her for it anymore. She's forgiven Beverly, and frankly, can't stand another moment of heartache and doubt inside the person she loves. Still, even after expressing her need, Beverly is uncertain and she is _still_ holding back.

 _At this rate, she'll never learn._

Pulling her closer, Deanna takes a short yet deep breath beforehand because this is it. This has to happen. Now.

"You're always one step behind me…holding back. And I wish you wouldn't." Leaning in until she's speaking at a whisper right against Beverly's mouth she finishes. "I wish you'd love me like you want to, Beverly. And kiss me like you wa—"

"Are you sure?" Beverly asks, doubtful to the last.

Deanna's answer dies in her throat; words won't fix this.

By most standards, they're barely kissing at all. Gentle, tentative, almost like they're mutually afraid of devouring one another if not careful. Beverly's lips are soft, so soft and briefly, Deanna thinks of cherries; it's got to be the chap-stick. Deanna'd never heard of it before but Beverly is obsessive about it and… Well... No wonder she's usually too preoccupied with staring at Beverly's mouth to pay any attention to the agenda during staff meetings.

Unable to endure the delicious contrast of the sweet, feather-light kisses and the pounding of her heart any longer—Deanna hauls her forward by the lapels of her lab-coat. No doubt, her doctor gives a cry in surprise but comes forward eagerly to fit inside the space provided between Deanna's now parted legs. By now, her knees are probably giving a great protest but it's obvious she doesn't care.

Before Deanna can maneuver beyond 'gentle' and 'tentative', Beverly cups the side of her face, keeping her still, stopping her just in the nick of time. The confines of 'friendship' have never afforded touching. Not like this. But while she might have been denying herself the privilege of admitting it, Deanna has wanted to experience these delicate, slender hands all over her body…because she knows she can trust them.

Without hesitation she relaxes into the touch, lost in the feeling of it already.

"I _am_ in love you," Beverly says, pressing her body flush against Deanna. The heat formed in their embrace is reason enough for Deanna's toes to curl—to say nothing of the wild look in Beverly deep blue eyes. "In case you didn't know," she finishes with that same wild look.

 _Oh, I knew. I think I always did._

Prying her hands away from Beverly's coat, she slips them up and into flaming red hair that's also—like Beverly's lips—always got her attention and something she's been dying to touch. "I missed it," she says, restraining herself enough to get the words out. "How we _both_ felt...I kept myself from believing it. But I need you, too. I've been in love with you this whole time, Beverly. I know that now."

Once that's out of the way, Deanna is determined to deepen their kiss. Thinking that, surely, this ought to take care of any lingering doubt; she puts a hand to the back of Beverly's neck, drawing her in, leaving no room for anything but surrender.

It works perfectly; Beverly is transformed, no longer careful, and unlike she'd originally planned, _Deanna_ is unexpectedly at her mercy. The tender affection always displayed is replaced with passion, pent-up desire and pure lust.

Masterfully, it creates a new scene in her head: Though in the same room, in the same chair, Deanna can see herself naked and writhing underneath Beverly on the floor. It's raw, hurried; almost primal the way she is being loved and satisfied and…taken. Finally, everything Beverly feels is given freely and Deanna's only recourse, in their reality, is to wrap both her arms around Beverly's neck as she is swept up in need.

To Be Continued


End file.
